His Request To Julia
Julia, if I chance to die
Ere I print my poetry,
I most humbly thee desire
To commit it to the fire:
Better 'twere my book were dead,
Than to live not perfected.
poem by Robert Herrick
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The Death of Poetry
Poetry is dead and God is alive.
I heard these words and began to cry.
Without poetry what would become of me,
Drowning in a sea of Christianity?
Poetry is dead and long let it lie
With its Thee and its Thy and its Thou and its Thine
May we never see another line
Of iambic pentameter with end-stopped rhymes.
Poetry is dead, and so it shall lay,
Mouldering at the pit of its shallow grave.
And no longer will they give a hoot
For the quatrain stanzas or the metered foot!
Poetry is dead at the bottom of the sea
With its anapests, dithyrambs, dactyls and spondees.
And also eight to sixteen lines
On your innermost feelings or the meaning of life.
Poetry is dead but how long will it stay
Before they resurrect it for another day?
Has it not been just a few years time
Since they said it was God who was dead—
-and poetry alive?
poem by Theresa Haffner
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Julia
Half of what I say is meaningless
But I say it just to reach you
Julia
Julia
Julia
Oceanchild
Calls me
So I sing a song of love
Julia
Julia
Seashell eyes
Windy smile
So I sing a song of love
Julia
Her hair of floating sky is shimmering
Glimmering
In the sun
Julia
Julia
Morning moon
Touch me
So I sing a song of love
Julia
When I cannot sing my heart
I can only speak my mind
Julia
Julia
Sleeping sand
Silent cloud
Touch me
So I sing a song of love
Julia
Calls me
So I sing a song of love
For julia
Julia
Julia
song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Julia
Half of what i say is meaningless
But i say it just to reach you, julia
Julia, julia, oceanchild, calls me
So i sing a song of love, julia
Julia, seashell eyes, windy smile, calls me
So i sing a song of love, julia
Her hair of floating sky is shimmering, glimmering,
In the sun
Julia, julia, morning moon, touch me
So i sing a song of love, julia
When i cannot sing my heart
I can only speak my mind, julia
Julia, sleeping sand, silent cloud, touch me
So i sing a song of love, julia
Hum hum hum hum...calls me
So i sing a song of love for julia, julia, julia
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet 46: I Curs'd Thee Oft
I curs'd thee oft, I pity now thy case,
Blind-hitting boy, since she that thee and me
Rules with a beck, so tyrannizeth thee,
That thou must want or food, or dwelling place,
For she protest to banish thee her face.
Her face? Oh Love, a rogue thou then shouldst be!
If Love learn not alone to love and see,
Without desire to feed of further grace.
Alas poor wag, that now a scholar art
To such a schoolmistress, whose lessons new
Thou needs must miss, and so thou needs must smart.
Yet dear, let me his pardon get of you,
So long (though he from book miche to desire)
Till without fuel you can make hot fire.
poem by Philip Sidney
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A Song
Lord, when the sense of thy sweet grace
Sends up my soul to seek thy face.
Thy blessed eyes breed such desire,
I dy in love’s delicious Fire.
O love, I am thy Sacrifice.
Be still triumphant, blessed eyes.
Still shine on me, fair suns! that I
Still may behold, though still I dy.
Though still I dy, I live again;
Still longing so to be still slain,
So gainfull is such losse of breath.
I dy even in desire of death.
Still live in me this loving strife
Of living Death and dying Life.
For while thou sweetly slayest me
Dead to my selfe, I live in Thee.
poem by Richard Crashaw
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Thought Print, Life Print
from time print
comes thought print
and from there life print
and from there
every person's
chance to relive
a million times
easy as the sun rises
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Julia
Eyes so bright, so big and wide
Make you feel so strange
Somewhere deep inside
Its the face of an angel
Soul of the devil may care
How Id love to know
What goes on in there
She needs your love
She needs it every day
But speak of love
See her laugh and run away
Julia, which way will you go
Julia, I wanna know
Julia, only the moon and stars
Julia, know just where you are
Julia
See the dance that needs no alibi
Oh you dont need to dream
When you know you can fly
She needs your love
She needs it every day
But speak of love
See her laugh and run away
Julia, which way will you go
Julia, I wanna know
Julia, only the moon and stars
Julia, know just where you are
Julia
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Night Piece, To Julia
Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting stars attend thee;
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
No Will-o'-th'-Wisp mis-light thee,
Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee;
But on, on thy way,
Not making a stay,
Since ghost there's none to affright thee.
Let not the dark thee cumber;
What though the moon does slumber?
The stars of the night
Will lend thee their light,
Like tapers clear without number.
Then Julia let me woo thee,
Thus, thus to come unto me;
And when I shall meet
Thy silv'ry feet,
My soul I'll pour into thee.
poem by Robert Herrick
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If You Hate Poetry
i have read that somewhere,
if you hate poetry
you have to get
this book,
buy it, and
you will love
it.
sales talk.
if you really hate poetry,
why buy
a book of poetry?
you may dislike me
but poems
are nothing but
spits
of something
that you do not
want to stay
inside your throat
all i need
is a little relief
from this
urge to vomit
and here you
are
reading mine.
(i am
laughing)
so do you really hate
poetry?
k, buy that book
you will really
love it
(the book)
and hate the more
what you hated most.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Retrieved Poetry
Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
But the inspiration that befell the poet,
But the gods that cursed the poet
Would never allow him grow weary.
It keeps pouring out like morning dew
From sundown to cock crow.
Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
Those would get paid
That wishes it out of this world.
Judgement day, the pay day, even today
,
Memories linger of what the gods inspired.
Only poetry has survived a worldwide flood.
Poetry is dead,
Some have said.
But the inspiration keeps coming,
But the memory keeps living.
Poetry lives on even when the world is dead;
It dies only if it is not poetry
And there is only a good few poetry.
Poetry is dead,
Some have said.
Until we start seeing poetry as poetry
And nothing more, until that day,
Until we start thinking he is inspired,
Until we stop thinking for the poet;
He is possessed he is innocent.
Poetry is dead,
So goes the argument.
Even as we cut from the same tree,
Even as we speak same universal language,
You cannot cut deep if your axe's blunt.
We can never speak from same mouth.
You can only say your own thought.
Poetry is dead,
So goes the argument,
If poetry is dead killed by death,
If poetry is dead swallowed by death,
The corpse should be in our front.
We should know how to bury it.
We should dig not cover it with dust.
Poetry is dead,
If poetry is really dead,
There is cause to weep bitterly,
There is cause to think deeply
For the world has been stripped naked.
For poetry is great, ageless, timeless, bottomless
At the burial we must remain emotionless.
poem by Chime Justice Ndubuisi
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Physical Presence
I leave as I enter
another boy caught in-between
now all I can muster
are whispers to your screams
don't you remember
how you eased my disgrace
don't you remember
the love you saw in my face
perfected in silence
a physical presence
perfected in silence
a physical presence
I sought affection
but now I realize
a cold rejection
the movement in your eyes
but I can remember
when you shook against me
I can remember
when I saw what love could be
perfected in silence
a physical presence
perfected in silence
a physical presence
ain't what she did
it's the way that she did it
when I couldn't give
only she could forgive it
ain't what she did
it's the way that she did it
as long as I live
it's for me to re-live it . . .
silence . . .
part of the answer
is that there's really no escape
part of the answer
is that life can have such perfect shape
don't you remember
all the nights you shared in my disgrace
don't you remember
that the love that filled this empty space was . . .
. . . perfected in silence
a physical presence
perfected in silence
a physical presence
song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Curse of Kehama
I charm thy life,
From the weapons of strife,
From stone and from wood,
From fire and from flood,
From the serpent’s tooth,
And the beast of blood.
From sickness I charm thee,
And time shall not harm thee;
But earth, which is mine,
Its fruits shall deny thee;
And water shall hear me,
And know thee and flee thee:
And the winds shall not touch thee
When they pass by thee,
And the dews shall not wet thee
When they fall nigh thee.
And thou shalt seek death,
To release thee, in vain;
Thou shalt live in thy pain,
While Kehama shall reign,
With a fire in thy heart,
And a fire in thy brain.
And sleep shall obey me,
And visit thee never,
And the curse shall be on thee
Forever and ever.
poem by Robert Southey
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Poetry To Me
What is poetry to me- it is words of beauty-words of life
Words of love, pain and sacrifice.
Words of showing and growing and needing and feeding
Words of hope and despairs, wanting and cares.
Poetry takes you into the minds of mankind
From days of old to the present time.
Poetry takes you on trips that you've never been before
And opens up every door.
Poetry becomes a longing, a want, a desire, a need
On which your mind must feed.
It becomes a life within itself
And takes you to the heavens and down to hell.
Poetry becomes a flaming desire
And only writing can put out this fire.
I call it my passion while others say it's my obsession
Yet! No matter what they may think or say
Poetry is here to stay.
So many different types of poetry
For the different minds 'you see'.
You will always find one that will give you meaning
From a loving heart to one that's bleeding.
Jump on the bandwagon and take a hold
For with poetry ' life unfolds'.
poem by Louis Rams
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His Last Request To Julia
I have been wanton, and too bold, I fear,
To chafe o'er-much the virgin's cheek or ear;--
Beg for my pardon, Julia! he doth win
Grace with the gods who's sorry for his sin.
That done, my Julia, dearest Julia, come,
And go with me to chuse my burial room:
My fates are ended; when thy Herrick dies,
Clasp thou his book, then close thou up his eyes.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Passion
A passion found, is a passion to keep
A passion felt, is a passion to be kept
Poetry from the heart, poetry from the soul,
Poetry I have always felt,
There are many passions in
this world but none like this one, which you can
always return too when you feel lost or
feel you have something to say
I love thee yet, I love thee more
but with words I can express thee hence more
Sometimes life feels too complex to find the one with the same passion as you share,
Someone that understands you for you, not only the external you, but the inner you,
Someone that understands your thoughts and passions in life; pleasure is one thing but
Once that desire for pleasure with that person has been diminished,
what is there, nothing, a desire gone and lost,
yet to say I yearn, and can't wait till I find the one that shares the same passion and desires as I do
poem by Coker George
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When Poetry...
when poetry stings
there's someone who smiles
from the cadences of infused passion
to the rhythm of a gyrating emotion
when poetry rings
there's someone who sings
from the rhyme that often burst forth
to the brilliant lights that soulful thought
when poetry peals
there's someone who flutes
the words that hangs on a harp
there's someone playing the music
of the soul...
if poetry be your passion play on
please don't stop
if poetry be your fire
please burn on in desire
if poetry be your height
please rise on go on higher...
poem by Beibee Beibee
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I Want The Past To Be Again
I want the past to be again-
I don’t want so many of them to be dead-
I don’t want to be old-
I want to see us as we were-
I want the chance to live it again-
I want to live it better than I did-
I want the past to be again-
I want another chance-
I want us all alive again-
I want to love them again-
And be better to them than I was then-
I don’t want it to be gone-
I don’t want so many to be dead-
I want it to be again-
I want a second chance-
I don’t want it to be gone-
I don’t want it to be gone-
God it’s over-
I’ll be dead soon too-
I don’t want it this way
I don’t want all of us to be gone.
And who cares
And who should care
What I want?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Cold!
Come not to me with loveliness
Across the crying hill;
For once I held thee pitiless
Hast thou no pity still?
Come not to me with hot delight,
And touch this moveless clay,
Lest my poor heart that knows the night
Awake and feel the day.
Come not to me and kiss this head,
And heat me with thy fire;
For I am dead, and thou art dead;
And dead is my desire.
poem by Leon Gellert
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Healing Through Poetry
The content of her book is very nice
And what she writes about she knows
She tells us of her struggles so well
Her love for God and His Son just flows
I am so glad that I got her book
Faith thru her book the soul uplifts
From my heart I recommend it to you
'Healing through Poetry' is a poetic gift
I really enjoyed reading this book so much
She surely shares some of her hopes and pain
Her poetry is a true tale of faith and love
Mary's healing thru Christ shows not in vain
Wonderful author gave me another perspective
Her love for her son shines all the way indeed
Poetry content can bring inspiration to all
For my part I'm happy that her book I've read
November 22,2009
Author's note: 'Healing Through Poetry.' This is Mary Ann Duhart's first poetry book.
poem by Dorian Petersen Potter
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Love Me - Love My Poetry
I once wrote some poetry - the best,
the finest POETRY
My POETRY came with a capital
"P".
My POETRY was distinguished
POETRY, proper, complete line of
Verse POETRY - honorable,
prehistoric, geographical POETRY
Divine, instinctive, even religious
POETRY -
I sent it to the magazines
The very good magazines
The very best magazines -
They returned it to me every time!
I once wrote some inferior POETRY
Low in style, irregular in measure
POETRY
Undignified, trivial, absurd POETRY
inadequate, mischievous, comic
POETRY
Some stuff like this - A CRIME -
I sent it to the magazines
The very good magazines
The very best magazines
They kept it every time!
Now, I ask of you - my question is
fair and brief - I ask
Of you - your ear I pray and beg you
give -
Shall I write intuitive,
comprehensive, reasoning
POETRY
Specific, Godlike, Capitol
committed POETRY
The sort I think will live?
Or shall I write inferior, very bad
POETRY - the kind that soon is
Dead - and send it to the magazines,
the very good, the best magazines
THAT I MAY LIVE INSTEAD!!!
poem by Bonnie Alden Phillips
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